The Burning Heart of Sherlock Holmes
by catsinhats
Summary: Moriarty has returned to London. Mary's threat looms. The good doctor's young daughter is also under the crime spider's radar. Sherlock Holmes has a lot at stake. Can he save himself and the people he loves from the utterly changeable villain?
1. Chapter 1

The Burning Heart of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter One: It's Always Sunny in Baker Street

Something about his mood seemed off. Not that this was a one off; there had been multiple times when Sherlock had been erratic with his behaviour. During a case, if he was bored, or if he had his craving of cigarettes and nobody humoured him. Today, however, there was something _different. _A sort of nervous aura around him. Of course, John couldn't exactly pin point it, he's not Sherlock Holmes after all, but after living with him all these years, and moving back with him after a fall out with Mary, he had begun to recognize some recurring pattern behaviour, and he had been pretty pleasant around him, and a lot many other people. Something was bothering him today, and it wasn't anything _ordinary_ in any sense. Perhaps he had heard something from Mycroft concerning Moriarty.

_Moriarty. _Thinking about him made John's heart beat erratically and his skin to break out in cold sweat. After his stint of capturing every single screen in all of London and projecting his face, he had been _unusually _quiet, even though Mycroft, Sherlock, and everyone else were on high alert. Molly Hooper had called Lestrade and Sherlock a week after that broadcast, saying that someone had broken into her apartment while she was in Barts and had left a red rose with the words 'I hope you missed me' printed on a sheet of paper and tacked onto the rose.  
"He knows that I helped him, and he's back for revenge. I cannot go back there...my building has really good security and the guard specified that no one had entered the building from the main entrance anyway." Molly had said, shaking with fear and possibilities clouding her head. Greg had accompanied her to his home and had offered to let her stay there for the time being, while he arranged for alternate accommodation. John hadn't been around 221 Baker Street much, what with Mary heavily pregnant and expecting the baby soon. Two weeks after that frightening incident, Baby Shirley was born. Looking at her small frame and wispy golden hair, John had felt his heart squeeze out of his chest. And some dread settled itself onto his heart too.

_I need to protect my daughter at all costs. With that lunatic loose, and all of us targets, she needs to stay under the radar for a while. _

There was no baby shower, no welcoming party for the precious bundle of joy. Sherlock had visited them in the hospital a day after she was born, even though he had wanted to be there with John for her birth; but the water had broken without any specific prior warning, and he had been away on a case to Dublin. He caught the first flight possible and came back, to hold Shirley in his arms and say nothing, just stare at her with a sheen in his eyes. John did not notice the singular tear that escaped Sherlock's eye as he put Shirley in her mother's arms and turned to swiftly walk away from the room. Nor did he notice the self satisfying smile on Mary's face. He couldn't stop looking at his daughter, the lovely little angel, who would have to be protected at all costs. And who would maybe bring some happiness back in his life.

They hadn't applied for a divorce yet; Mary implored him to give her another chance, to let her in, and that she would not break his trust again. But there was a lot unsaid, and only for Mary's sake had he stayed to help her during those final stages of her pregnancy. With Shirley in the picture it had been much more difficult to try and reconcile with Mary; they were both occupied with the baby, and many times John had to give up a good night's sleep to attend to Shirley in the middle of the night. Mary had been occupied with Shirley, and had taken leave from work at the clinic tot end to her. John would be busy with work [although sometimes he would have to abandon his workplace to rush to 221 B; those instances had been greatly reduced, lately], he would come home to find Mary preparing dinner for them while tending to Shirley. Although their life seemed blissfully complete from an outsider's point of view, there was imminent tension and the huge Elephant in the room, whenever they got together. John would steer from the awkwardness by tending to Shirley, and he found Mary doing the same. They didn't talk about the pen drive; Mary assumed the matter was closed, and John simply did not wish to talk about it. Sherlock had convinced him to take Mary back, after the whole affair regarding her past.  
"You've got to take her back, John, if not for your sake then for the child's." Sherlock had said to him, after everything about her had come to the forefront.  
"She _shot _you, Sherlock. You almost died. How can you convince me to take her back after what she's done to you?"  
"Because this is beyond me and her, beyond your relation with her. It can improve, it _will _improve, I'm certain of it. You love her, don't you? While love is merely a disadvantage, yet it seems like you have utmost to believe that you have loved Mary Morstan, and you married her. She is your wife and you're going to be a father soon. There's simply no reason why you shouldn't trust her now. It seems unlikely that she is going to do anything that will inflict any hurt upon her child, and the husband she professes to love." Sherlock had been calm and resolute throughout his reply, almost as though he had practised saying it before. John had said nothing, but he knew there was _something _beyond just concern for the baby, because of which Sherlock had asked him to do that. He asked, but Sherlock would not relent. John simply decided to not ask anymore, no matter how much it pained him. Sherlock was keeping information from him, but there was nothing he could do to get it out. If Sherlock wanted to keep things from him, so be it.

John sighed and looked up from his blog entry. Sherlock was sitting on the couch, staring off into space, thinking _whatever _it is that went through his head. It had been almost three hours since Sherlock had gotten a phone call and had been sitting on that couch ever since.  
"Sherlock?"  
No reply.  
"Hey, Sherlock?"  
No reply.  
John sighed and went back to his laptop, when he heard Sherlock get up and go to the coat hanger.  
"Sherlock? What happened, where are you going?"  
He looked at John as he put on his gloves and coat. "There's someone I have to meet."  
"Well I'm coming with you."  
"No, you're not."  
John looked at Sherlock sharply. "What do you mean?"  
Sherlock sighed and looked at the doctor warily. "It means that you're going to stay here and wait for Arlene to drop Shirley over while I go and deal with this." Arlene was Shirley's baby sitter who took care of her in the afternoons whenever Mary had to go out, and would drop Shirley over to Baker Street in the evenings if Mary wasn't at home, and during the weekend.  
John sighed and looked at his friend and partner, getting ready quickly before he briskly walked out of the apartment. John looked down from the windows, half expecting it to be Mycroft who had summoned Sherlock and was getting into a black car. However, he saw Sherlock get into a cab and drive off.

There had been a few instances when Sherlock had not informed John about who he was meeting and what he was going to do, but lately such instances had been reduced. John was his confidante, no matter what the circumstances had been, and he had been willing to share not only information, but to implore John to join him in the chase. Sherlock had a point in making him stay, so that Shirley wouldn't be in any trouble. But John couldn't shake an uncanny gut feeling, something akin to what he had felt when he had accompanied Sherlock on the first case John had ever been to with the detective, and he had gone out into the cab driver's location. Sherlock had been willing to give up his own life to prove that he was more clever, and he had almost lost him then. It had been two times since that Sherlock had been on the verge of death. _The fall, _an incident which John had pushed to the extreme corners of his consciousness, came floating back as image after image of the 'suicide call', the fall, the funeral, had flashed before him as he willed those images again to the deep recesses of his mind. Then there was the time he was shot in Magnusson's office. John had very nearly lost him again, this time for real. It had been one of the most harrowing days of his life as he sat there, inquiring about Sherlock's condition to anyone willing to listen. The whole affair with Magnusson had been dealt with, but John had nightmares at night sometimes, when he thought about what _could have been. _Sherlock was under constant surveillance now, due to his publicly shooting Magnusson in front of a whole lot of British officials. Mycroft had been able to convince the government officials to let Sherlock stay under constant surveillance, because of the Moriarty threat and after reports of the blackmailing Magnusson did amongst not only government officials but also many other important people in the country. Everyone hated Magnusson with a passion, but couldn't do anything about the man. Sherlock had committed a crime, but the country needed Sherlock, in more ways than one. John sat down on the couch with a huff and felt an imminent headache lurking in the corner of his temple. There had been a lot going on these days, things that sometimes compelled him to simply sit down and down a drink, before clutching his head in his hands and wishing for better times. The doorbell rang and he heard Mrs. Hudson climbing the stairs, before she opened the door. Behind her stood the young and lively Arlene, and in her arms, sleeping, was Shirley.

"Hello Dr. Watson!" Arlene said in her usual sunny way, depositing the sleeping baby girl in the crib John had bought and put in the living room. Sherlock had actually been able to clear some clutter to make place for the crib, although John usually took her with him upstairs during the nights, it was convenient to set up the crib in the living room, where they could keep an eye on her at all times. Shirley slept blissfully, as Arlene kept her diaper bag and a cloth bag containing a pair of clothes.  
"She is extremely tired, so expect her to sleep for some time." She smiled and gave him an envelope, with the words _John _written on it in cursive.  
"Mrs. Watson wanted me to give this to you. Well, I'll be off, I have to get to Uni. See you tomorrow Dr. Watson!" Arlene left and ran down the stairs, breezing past Mrs. Hudson who whelped softly, balancing the tray she was carrying, before starting to climb upstairs again.  
"She's a lively one, isn't she? Oh, look at the little darling, she's so lovely!" Mrs. Hudson cooed as she put the tray containing two cups of tea and biscuits on the table. John, however, was staring, puzzled, at the envelope. _Is this a bloody letter? _he thought to himself, as he located a spare blade lying around and opened the envelope.  
Inside, on a plain sheet of paper, was Mary's handwriting.

_Going out of town for a few days, don't know when I'll return. Take care of Shirley. I've paid Arlene her fee for this week so don't bother. I love you. –Mary._

"Why didn't she just send me a text?" John wondered out loud.  
"What is it, dear?"  
"Oh? Oh, nothing Mrs. Hudson. Thank you for the tea." He smiled briefly, taking his cup and sipping on it. Why hadn't Mary called him up, or sent him a text message? What was the need to send him a letter, that too through Arlene? And, not for the first time, John wondered whether Mary was in danger of any sort. She had applied for resignation from her job as a nurse, right after her maternity leave was over. She and John had fought and not made up, but she hadn't applied for another job ever since she quit the one in his clinic. And ever since he had moved out of their suburban house, he hadn't heard anything regarding a job. Yet, Mary had been travelling a _lot _recently. He had mentioned it to Sherlock, wondering if it would pique the detective's interest, but all he had gotten was a 'Hmm' before Sherlock had busied himself in some case or another. John rarely talked to Mary now, unless it was something concerning Shirley. His daughter was nearly a year old now, and as John looked at the baby's little form sleeping peacefully in the crib, his heart swelled with love, pride, and a roller coaster of emotions he could not effectively categorize. It didn't matter that he couldn't work it out with Mary, that he always went for the worst choice, that Moriarty was alive; meeting Mary had given him Shirley, eventually; when he looked at his daughter, he felt some panic and some trepidation, but mostly love and tranquillity seep inside of him. Looking at her sleeping form he smiled and touched her hair softly, watching her chest rise and fall quickly.

The door banged open as Sherlock entered the flat, discarding his scarf and coat in a hurry.  
"John, have you seen my laptop and that pen drive that I gave you..." Sherlock stopped as Shirley began to cry loudly, disturbed and irritated at the loud noise. John looked at Sherlock irritatingly, before taking Shirley in his arms.  
"There, there sweetheart, go off to sleep now." He rocked her and tried to lull her to sleep, but to no avail. Shirley had been woken up from her deep sleep and was imminently awake, in all sense of the word. Sherlock had the decency to look sheepish, before he began to rummage through the piles of random stuff scattered on the table. Shirley kept crying louder and louder, even when John walked around with her in an effort to get her to sleep, but she wouldn't go back to sleep. After ten minutes of Sherlock looking for the aforementioned pen drive in vain, and John attempting to lull Shirley back ro sleep, Sherlock let out a loud groan of exasperation as he walked towards John.  
"Give her to me." He said, as John looked at Sherlock, surprised.  
"What the bloody hell do you want her for?"  
"Look for the pen drive Mycroft gave me last night, the one with the Shatner case files. You can do that better than I can."  
"And what, you can put Shirley back to sleep?" John looked incredulous as Sherlock sighed. He took Shirley gingerly in his arms and stepped away from John.  
"Just look for the drive, John, I remember keeping it on this desk."

John went through the clutter on the desk and the apartment floor, before finding the pen drive lodged between a magazine and an old file filled with papers from an old case.  
"Sherlock, I've found your..." John stopped as he saw Sherlock holding Shirley in his arms, slowly moving it right and left. Shirley hadn't fallen asleep, although she was staring at the dark haired detective intensely, just as Sherlock was staring at her. John sat down on the couch and watched from afar as the detective and his daughter had a silent conversation. Eventually, Shirley drifted off to sleep and her eyelids closed. Sherlock put her in her crib, before straightening and looking over ti where John was sitting. Unbeknownst to him, John had been smiling softly all the while Sherlock had been with Shirley. He still couldn't stop smiling as Sherlock sat down on the couch opposite to him, rubbing his temple.  
"Did you find the drive?"  
John gave the drive to Sherlock, looking at him intently. The detective hadn't looked at him but was observing the drive in his hand intensely. After a while, John cleared his throat.  
"You're good with her, you know."  
For an instant, John could have sworn he saw something akin to pure affection flash through Sherlock's face; a hint of a smile, his eyes lighting up, before the detective assumed his normally non-chalant face.  
"I'm better at this." He said, plugging the pen drive in his laptop.

**A/N: This was intended as a one-shot, but developed into something much more. Reviews are appreciated; do leave a word about the fic. I will update it every Friday. Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: True Lies

"Moriarty's been spotted in London."  
"What?" John jerked awake, rubbing his eyes against his shirt sleeve, but the statement was unmistakable. Sherlock sat on his armchair, his phone by his side, the case files they had been looking at lying forgotten on the desk.

They had been looking at another cold case of the Yard's, the Pullman case, where a young girl was abducted and murdered within two days of her kidnapping. Sherlock was almost certain that the gardener was responsible, but there wasn't much they could do about it, aside from going over the evidence again and again. Somewhere in between this cross-examination of the files, John had fallen asleep, his head lying on the desk. Shirley was asleep in her crib, still kept downstairs due to their late night working, and it had been a busy day at work for the doctor.

John got up briskly and went to the kitchen to prepare some coffee for the two of them. It was around 4 am in the morning and John had been dead tired, but he was wide awake. _He is back. _A weariness of a different sort overtook John and he slumped against the kitchen counter.  
"Did he call you?"  
"No. Mycroft did, however. One of the CCTV cameras has allegedly captured him leaving Heathrow around 2 am this morning." Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, mussing up the already messed up dark curls of the consulting detective, and John saw him rub his eyes. It was unmistakable; Sherlock Holmes had been taking case after case, and when the Scotland Yard did not have a case then he took up cold cases and attempted to solve them. He had been unstoppable, not giving himself even an hour of free time. John realized that Sherlock needed to rest for some time, and that chasing after cold cases was his way of dealing with the imminent threat of Moriarty's return and attack.  
He saw Sherlock dialling a number, no doubt Mycroft's since he was the only one who _still _refused to text Sherlock and/or to entertain his text messages. After two rounds of the phone ringing, Sherlock tossed away his phone in frustration.  
"Why isn't he picking up?" The detective looked hassled and worn out.  
"Maybe you should rest right now. It is almost 5 am in the morning. We can always look this through in the morning." John winced slightly, a gripping headache overtaking him. It had been happening lately; due to lack of sleep, tiredness, and the constant energy needed to keep up with the crime-solving throughout London. He saw Sherlock roll his eyes and felt unprecedented rage course through him. Sherlock may like staying awake all night, looking through cases that were cold for a reason, and go after Moriarty's trail at bloody 5 am in the morning without any sleep, but John would take no part in it.

"But don't you see, John? It's too _convenient._" Sherlock looked up from his mobile phone to stare at John in the dim light of the apartment. "Think about it; Moriarty makes a fabulous escape from the dead and captures all the possible public and private screens in London to announce this shocking truth. He then disappears for almost a whole year with _no _trace whatsoever, even with the finest and the best equipment allotted by Mycroft to trace him. And now, suddenly, he emerges from the airport and casually walks by a CCTV camera in full view? It doesn't make sense. It doesn't match his _pattern._ And that is why I am bugging Mycroft at this hour. Either he is going to do something, which is why he had attracted attention towards himself, or . . ." Sherlock stopped.  
"A doppelganger?"  
"A doppelganger." Sherlock said, looking at John, as the few minimal rays of sunlight filtered through the windows of the apartment, but John couldn't appreciate the beauty of the sunrise, peeking through the many buildings on their street. Why would Moriarty need a doppelganger? It seemed odd that Mycroft would believe that Moriarty would commit such a common tactical error.  
"I need the video tapes from the airport. All Mycroft did was to relay the information to me before cutting the call, and now he won't pick up the phone." Sherlock gave an annoyed grunt. "Talk about childish feuds. He knows how annoying it is for me to wait while he calls or texts back."  
"But what if Mycroft isn't doing it on purpose?"  
He looked at John with a puzzled expression.  
"Because, you know, people tend to be _asleep _at such an early hour, if not already awake." John yawned and ran a hand over his face. Lately his escapades with Sherlock, along with the work and taking care of Shirley had taken a toll on his sleeping pattern. It had been a week since Mary had sent that letter through Arlene, a whole week when Shirley had to be taken care of during the nights. A whole week when Sherlock took up case after case from the Yard, regardless of the 'rating' that he gave them. He went through them quickly; a business man who was killed after being involved in an embezzlement scam, a teenager bludgeoned to death allegedly by his ex-boyfriend, and other such brutal cases. Of course, for the keen mind of the detective's, these cases weren't really difficult. But they were _many, _Sherlock didn't have any qualms about the cases he selected, although he _still _scoffed when people came to him with cases of cheating spouses.  
"You can stay awake if you want, I'm going to sleep." John said, making his way towards Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock looked up and bolted towards the door, standing in front of it, eliciting a groan from John.  
"Sherlock, come _on. _Shirley is sleeping in the living room and I cannot wake her up to carry her upstairs. For God's sake, let me _sleep_."  
Sherlock entered his room before John could utter another word and locked it behind him. And no matter how much he knocked, the bloody _git _wouldn't open the door for him.  
"Stupid, _stupid _dickhead." John muttered, making his way towards the couch and crashing on it for a dreamless sleep.

He woke up to the sound of Shirley bawling, and Mrs. Hudson trying to cheer the little girl. He looked around but found no signs of Sherlock around.  
"Is Sherlock sleeping, Mrs. Hudson?"  
"Oh no, dear. He stepped out of the apartment at around seven am this morning, saying that he had an appointment." The landlady replied, simultaneously trying to soothe the baby. Shirley would not get quiet, even after John fed her and played with her. Thankfully for them, Arlene arrived along her usual time and took care of Shirley, and that's when John got an opportunity to take a shower and get dressed. He hadn't sent in any prior notice to the clinic, so he knew he needed to go there, even if for a shot while. He texted Sherlock and asked him about his whereabouts, but got no reply. He called up Mary's number, only to be informed that it was switched off. _Damn her, _John muttered angrily, hailing a taxi in a bid to get to the clinic early.

He managed to convince another doctor to take his shift, citing health problems. It wasn't a complete lie; John had looked in the mirror this morning and had noticed the huge eye bags on his face, no doubt the work of the minimal sleep he was getting. Adding misery to his already poor state was the fact that he had had next to no sleep due to the escapades of last night, and the couch wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep in. He made his way back to the apartment, too tired to even enjoy the unusually sunny day. Quickly hailing a cab, John had a mini-nap in the seat, before he was informed [rather crudely] by the cabbie that they had arrived. John had already called Arlene to confirm that Shirley was in the park with her, and so John could peacefully catch a few winks. Provided Sherlock wasn't waiting for him in the rooms for yet another case.  
_Bollocks to that. Let him deal with this case himself, I need to sleep. _Nevertheless, John peeked into the apartment, if only to let Sherlock know that he wouldn't be available for any crime solving for the afternoon.

The door was partly open, as was not uncommon, and he half expected Mrs. Hudson to be in there, either fussing over Sherlock or cleaning their apartment. Instead, he saw a woman sitting in his armchair, her face towards the opposite direction from his, reading a magazine. She had short, black hair, slightly damp. He could make out that she was wearing a red coloured dressing gown, and a red coloured small suitcase was thrown open in the middle of the living floor.  
"Sherlock?" John called out softly, but loud enough for the woman in his armchair to turn and look in his direction, and John found himself staring in the blue-green eyes of Irene Adler.

**A/N: I am sorry if this chapter disappointed you guys, I'm still working on the fic and all the chapters that I am posting are all rough drafts. Once I am done with the fic, I will put it under the knife and do some massive editing, but for now all I am posting is word vomit. **_**Thank you so much **_**for your kind reviews for the first chapter! Much, much appreciated. Do leave a word about this one too!  
**_edit: I am extremely sorry for the glitch in Chapter 2 after posting it last night. My sincerest apologies, it won't happen again._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: The Woman in Black

_What in the bloody hell? _Perhaps in his fatigue and sleep deprivation, he had started to hallucinate. And out of all hallucinations, the only thing his mind could conjure was the Woman. Or a woman who looked like Irene Adler. For some reason John couldn't say anything, even when The Woman, or the-woman-who-looked-like-The-Woman, smirked at him amusedly.  
"Well hello there, Dr. Watson. I dare say when I heard the door open I didn't expect to see you standing there."

John could do nothing, aside from clearing his throat and blinking his eyes a few times, until he was completely convinced it was no hallucination. The woman got up from the armchair, still as graceful as she had been when they had first met, and made her way to the kitchen. John followed her, slightly dazed, yet determined to clear his confusion.  
"So, hm, I-I thought you died in Karachi . . .?" John managed to choke out, as he watched Irene try and make tea, rummaging through the messy kitchen.  
"As you can see, I didn't." She turned on the kettle and located a tea bag and a mug.  
"How?"  
"That is an interesting question." She walked out of the kitchen and sat again on John's armchair, crossing her legs and running a hand through her hair. "Sherlock helped me escape the terrorist group that had captured me in Karachi, and after that I have been in hiding."  
"Sherlock helped you?" _So he knew all this time. _John couldn't help but feel slightly betrayed. _Another lie, another secret revealed. _Sherlock had been keeping things from him for a long time, and usually John didn't let it bother him. However, after the Fall [and Sherlock's subsequent resurrection] John had been wary of secrets and lies, especially from his best-friend's side. Lately it seemed as though everyone around him secrets that they desperately protected/ First it was Mary's constant travelling, despite wishing to work on their marriage, Sherlock meeting with someone and not letting John accompany him, Mycroft's peculiar acts, and now this.  
"Right, um. Where's Sherlock?"  
Irene shrugged. "No idea. He had texted me, telling me to come over to Baker Street as soon as I land in London, so here I am. I found the landlady, but no sign of Sherlock."  
"I can see you made yourself quite comfortable."  
"I did take the nearest flight I could get to London, which happened to be a ten hour flight, and I was extremely tired. Besides, it looks like I am going to be staying here for a while, so I thought, why not take a shower and become comfortable? I _am _surprised to find you here, though. Last I heard, you had found yourself a wife." Irene cocked an eyebrow and John grimaced slightly.  
"Yes well, I still assist Sherlock in his cases. Have you and Sherlock been talking?"  
"Regularly, no. He did contact me about three days ago, asking me if I could come to London via as soon as possible. He said he needs me for a case, something involving Jim Moriarty." Irene looked down at the floor, sighing deeply. "I owe Sherlock my life; if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have gotten an opportunity to live. Getting involved with Jim Moriarty is a risky business and I wanted to stay out of the public eye, but as I said, I do owe him my life." She smiled again, rather deviously John noted, and chuckled. "I told him I would get here and help him out on _one _condition though; if he has dinner with me one night."

John stiffened visibly. Irene, eyeing his discomfort and subsequently enjoying it, continued. "I did ask him if it would be alright with you."  
He clenched his fist tightly, loosening them, before clenching them again. Clearing his throat, he laughed sardonically. "You don't think; for the last time, _I am not gay. _I have a wife for God's sake and-" He stopped.  
"And?"  
Before he could reply, the sound of heavy footsteps came from the doorway. Sherlock entered, discarding his coat. He glanced past John, barely acknowledging him, before giving a short quick nod to Irene.  
"Good, your flight was on time."  
"I did say I'd come in time for us to be able to have _dinner, _Sherlock." Irene's voice was like velvet and honey, her stance provocative and her dressing gown hideously red; that's what John thought anyway. Sherlock looked at her, his face expressionless, but John was aware that Sherlock was an expert at keeping his expressions under control; no one could truly ever know what he was thinking. The kettle in the kitchen whistled loudly, breaking the awkward silence in the room. Irene smiled apologetically at Sherlock, preferring simply not to acknowledge John anymore, and made her way to the kitchen. As soon as she was safely out of hearing range, John pulled Sherlock to one side. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, but remained quiet as he bent down a bit. John moved closer to the detective in an effort to make sure that The Woman wouldn't hear anything from the kitchen, and whispered, "What were you thinking-"  
"John, I don't know what-"  
"-bringing _her _in the apartment, when she is practically a fugitive? Also, you _saved _her? Even Mycroft thinks she's dead! Or was it another lie the Holmes brothers fed to me?" John had been clenching and un-clenching his fingers this whole time. "Now listen here, Sherlock-"  
"John let me-"  
"_Will you listen for Godssake!_" John's voice rose a bit and he shook a finger in his face, a gesture to keep him quiet. Sherlock recoiled a bit, no doubt surprised from the amount of rage that John was shaking with, but John had hit the limit; he was tired, angry, and scared for Shirley.  
"I don't _care _what work you have with her, you are getting her out of this apartment before Arlene comes home with Shirley. I don't want her to be around my daughter. _Do you hear me?_"

Sherlock didn't reply, but leaned backwards and walked away from John. Fuming, John made his way to his upstairs apartment, ignoring the inquisitive look Irene Adler was throwing at him, and practically banged the door on his way out. Once he was safely in his bedroom, he called up Arlene, requesting her to stay out with Shirley for an extended period of time, before changing into more comfortable clothes and getting into bed. Sleep would not come to him easily, and stray thoughts entered his mind, refusing to leave. Eventually, he fell asleep, only to be awoken a couple of hours later by a persistent knock on his door.  
"John." Three brisk knocks, and then Sherlock called out again, "John?"  
"Yeah I'm coming." Donning a dressing gown over his mussed clothes, he made his way to the door, opening it. Sherlock stood stiffly, looking the other way before looking at John apologetically.  
"I have sent The Woman to stay at a discreet inn; I will need her services for more than a few days, but I have made arrangements to meet her separately. It was difficult enough to keep her away from Mycroft's spies." His voice became bitter when he mentioned the so-called 'spies' Mycroft Holmes had assigned to keep an eye on the apartment; partly as a result of the Magnusson shooting and partly because he wished to screen his brother'sactivities with more scrutiny. Naturally, it had irked Sherlock but there was nothing much he could do about it.  
"Right." John was still groggy but he looked at the detective keenly. "What about dinner then?"  
"What?"  
"Nevermind."  
Sherlock blinked a couple of times before clearing his throat. "Well, there is not much I can do about Moriarty right now; Mycroft still refuses to pick up my calls and/or return my text messages. I can only assume that he has some legitimate reason for that. I also cannot go and 'get' it from his office, with his watchdogs trailing after me twenty four-seven." Sherlock grunted irritably, like he always did when he mentioned the so-called watchdogs. "Irene has given me considerable clues, but I'm afraid there's no time to dally. I need to meet a few of the people part of my homeless network. Might take a while."  
"Right, so can I-"  
"It's almost time for Shirley to come home from her day out, right?"  
"Yes but-"  
Sherlock put up his hand, silencing John [rather rudely, John thought] and walked briskly down the stairs, disappearing from his sight.

The apartment door banged open in the late evening. John was sitting on the couch, partly dozing off, with the telly on and a sitcom playing. A baby monitor was kept beside him, and the detective's dramatic entry was not loud enough for Shirley to wake up in her crib, which John had moved upstairs. Arlene had purchased a baby monitor, which would indicate if Shirley ever woke up, something which John had been thinking of investing in but had not got the time to do so. He checked the monitor once more, while Sherlock had stepped in the apartment and discarded his coat and scarf. "Well, the apartment seems messier than when I had left it last afternoon."  
The velvety smooth voice prompted John to nearly drop the monitor and glance sharply at Irene Adler, who was taking off her overcoat and hanging it on the coat rack.  
"What in the bloody hell?" He got up, and in the process ended up knocking off a tea cup, which shattered on the apartment floor. In the commotion, John heard the baby monitor registering the sharp cries of Shirley.  
"Is there a baby in here somewhere?" Irene looked genuinely puzzled, before looking at John's partly-angry-partly-guarded expression. "Oh, I see."  
"See what?" John was getting anxious; this was just wrong. The Woman was supposed to be away from the apartment!  
"You and yourwife had a baby. I can see why you asked Sherlock to keep me away. Well, we can't avoid that." She rolled her eyes, running her hand through her extremely short hair before looking towards the open doorway. "Want me to look after her?"  
"I'd rather you not."  
Sherlock had been rummaging through the numerous files, before grabbing his laptop and typing furiously on it. John turned towards the detective before walking towards him furiously.  
"I _think _I told you that she is to stay away."  
Sherlock didn't respond, merely running a scan through some files and, from what John could [barely] see, for someone's photograph.  
"Sherlock will you bloody listen to me?"  
"Alright!" exasperated, Sherlock almost slammed the laptop screen and got up.  
"One of Mycroft's men saw her entering the hotel. She isn't safe here and her work isn't done."  
"Then ask Mycroft to comply, tell him why you need her, and ask him to call off his men."  
"Won't do any good. She needs to leave as soon as she can, and there wasn't enough time for me to find her another hiding place."  
"So you brought her here." John laughed humourlessly. "Brilliant."  
Sherlock looked at his partner and had the decency to look apologetic. "You must understand, John, that I didn't have a choice."  
John didn't say anything, choosing to walk away briskly to his bedroom to console Shirley. Irene walked towards the consulting detective who sat on the sofa, angry and sad, before taking his laptop from the desk and rebooting it.  
"I hate to be the one to say this right now, but your lover's tiff can wait. My plane leaves in two hours." she said, quickly going through the photographs Sherlock had managed to extract. "Are these files from police records?"  
"Military." Sherlock replied stonily.

"Him. That's him." Irene pointed a well manicured fingernail on the photograph of a handsome, rugged man in an army uniform. They had been looking through files containing photographs for the past hour without any break, despite Irene's many lamentations of how bored and/or hungry she was. "Are you sure?"  
"Positive."  
Sherlock took the laptop from Irene and began typing on it furiously, before keeping it aside and getting up briskly. "Come on, we need to get you out of here." He said to Irene, whilst donning on his overcoat.  
"Right now? But I need to get my stuff from the inn!"  
"No, too dangerous. We cannot risk you being spotted by those spies again." He walked out of the apartment, leaving Irene behind to sulk briefly, before she sighed and followed him.  
John had been sitting in his armchair, sipping tea and looking anywhere but at the Woman and Sherlock sitting and talking amongst them. He had come downstairs after putting Shirley back to sleep and checking the doors and windows of the bedroom and making sure the baby monitor was working, before coming downstairs only to find Sherlock and Irene concentrating on the laptop screen. He tried to catch their attention, if only to ask what the heck was going on, but didn't get a reply from the pair. Now, seeing the commotion, he got up and followed Sherlock himself, catching him putting on his scarf quickly.  
"Now can you tell me what's going on?"  
"I'm getting Irene out of London. She will be in a safe house, and after the inn is safe enough to retrieve her things, she will get out of the country. But not tonight, and tonight all I can do is ensure that she's out of London."  
"Are you going with her?"  
"No, I am going to my homeless network. I need information, photographs, whatever they can get on this man." He opened a photograph on his phone before showing it to John. It was the same man whose photograph Irene had pointed out on Sherlock's laptop.  
"Who is he?" John asked, slightly unnerved by the army uniform the man was wearing in the photograph, and to John he did look oddly familiar.  
"Colonel Sebastian Moran."  
John didn't have the foggiest idea who this man was, but he stepped aside and watched Irene and Sherlock disappear down the stairs and out of the apartment.

A photograph lay on the coffee table in 221 B, Baker Street, crushed and almost unrecognizable. A daunting, rugged man, previously identified by Irene as Col. Sebastian Moran stood against the backdrop of snow capped mountains, a shotgun hanging from his arm and an overcoat covering most of his body. Beside him stood a woman in a black coat, her face hidden by the ski mask she was wearing, and her long, brunette hair in a ponytail.  
"Who is the woman, Sherlock?"  
"I haven't the foggiest."  
John sighed and picked up the photograph in another futile attempt to smoothen the crinkles and lines crowding it. Sherlock had been pacing the room for the past fifteen minutes and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.  
"Is this all your network managed to get on Sebastian Moran?"  
"So far, yes. I may get something else tomorrow, but it's quite difficult." Sherlock let out a breath and collapsed on his chair. "All records have been wiped clean. There's only so much I can do without featuring on Mycroft's radar."  
"Why can't Mycroft help you, though?"  
"He can, but I want to stay as far away from him as possible right now, and work on Sebastian Moran's angle without involving Mycroft. It will only complicate things. Besides, I don't trust his 'spies'. They can be easily infiltrated if you know how, and Moriarty certainly knows how."  
"So Irene was here to recognise Moran."  
"She is the only person I know who has seen him and will not lie to me."  
"How can you be so sure?" John furrowed his eyebrows, "How can you trust her after all that she's done?"  
Sherlock grimaced. "Because I can expose her and sell her location to her enemies faster than she can disappear. She knows that, and so she won't do anything that might put her in that position."  
John nodded, although he still didn't trust her, he knew how much she valued her new life. Surely she wouldn't risk it only to cross Sherlock, would she?  
"So, what now?" John asked, sitting in his armchair and glancing towards Sherlock.  
"We wait."

**A/N: **_First of all, I would like to apologize to everyone who had been waiting to read this chapter of the story. Thank you for sticking by with me, and I am extremely sorry for the late update. Certain things happened that prevented me from being able to write in this span of time, but I am back now. I wrote half of this chapter on the 28__th__ of May which was also incidentally my birthday and wanted to post finish and post the story that day itself, but I couldn't. So I am posting this now. Do leave your precious and wonderful reviews about the chapter. I will try and write the next chapter as soon as possible, to compensate for the late. Thank you for reading!_


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